


Sickness of the Mind - A Doctor's Note

by AllThatNoise



Category: Left 4 Dead 2, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 07:33:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9062560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllThatNoise/pseuds/AllThatNoise
Summary: Nick runs into everyone's favorite doctor.





	1. Chapter 1

The fact that the place still had electricity didn’t sit well with me. _‘I might have to investigate the breaker, generator or whatever. I’m not used to electricity being on anymore. I wonder how long it’ll stay on. I’ll worry about it later, I’m just so tired_.’

I huddle up in a ball and waited patiently to fall asleep. The swim to shore wore me out but for some reason and I was having trouble drifting off to dreamland. Just as I was starting to close my tired eyes I hear a few gunshots echo through the building and footsteps dash through the hallways trying to navigate the abandoned ruins. I can also hear an oncoming crowd following the footsteps as it make its way through the halls. The footsteps were getting too loud, I couldn’t take it anymore. In a fit of anger and curiosity I open the door just a crack to see what the ruckus was. The broken hall lights flickered relentlessly above the other survivor from down the hall; I could barely see what they looked like. At the moment, I didn’t care; he was making too much noise and was attracting the infected straight to him.

“Why are people so loud in the worst of places?” I murmured to myself as I close the door behind me. I’d expected the person to run the opposite direction down another hallway but cringe when I hear his stomping feet run down the same hall my room was in. The door knob behind me jiggles frantically forcing me to turn my attention to the door again. Here’s my chance to make another life or death decision.

_Yes open the door, let the stranger in so you won’t be alone._

_**'Yeah, play the hero, the hero that got killed for foolishly helping an idiot. It shouldn’t be your problem if the guy literally led the infected straight toward him.** _

_'But you won’t sleep well knowing that you’ve condemned the poor soul without trying to help.'_

_**'A poor soul that could kill you.'** _

_'You’re just being paranoid, not everyone wants to kill you.'_

_**'Ha! Zombie apocalypse happening, being paranoid is what’s keeping you alive!'** _

My brain was going haywire arguing with itself. The tension was maddening. My ears suddenly perked to the oncoming horde of footsteps and I bite my bottom lip hard as I make up my mind on what to do. Throwing the door wide open and I grab the stranger by the arm and pulled them inside the room just before the horde could make it down the hallway. Once I locked the door, the stranger knocked me back near the door knob, his combat knife unsheathed and at my throat.

His voice was low, rough as he spoke in my ear, a native.“Who the fuck are you?”

I practically shat bricks, seriously I was about to. This has turned out to be a very bad decision on my part. I blindly search around for anything to help me get that knife away from my throat. “I-I just saved your life.” My hand graze over the switch to my insanely bright lamp and I instantly sparked an idea. I just hoped it’d give me enough time to get free. Shutting my eyes, I throw caution to the wind and turn on my lamp. I squint my eyes to help them adjust to the sudden brightness and managed to knock the knife out of my disoriented captor’s hands. I open my eyes enough to notice that my captor was clearly a man, much older than me but not bad looking, and instinctively kicked him in the stomach. The guy bends over in pain while I scramble to the farthest wall and reach for Jawbreaker.

My heart is skittering alive and I’m having a little trouble catching my breath from the adrenaline burst. I managed to say something through rushed breaths, “A ‘thanks’ would have been nice. What is your problem?”

The man manages to let out a pained groan and sets his back against the opposite wall. “You pulled me into a strange room while I was being chased by a mob of infected. Adrenaline and old military reflexes kicked in. Can you blame me for being paranoid?”

I snort, “Fine, sorry for the kick. But seriously buddy, I don't want any trouble. It sounded like you needed help out there so I helped out.” The pained look on his face subsided enough for him to stare at my direction for a while. I lower Jawbreaker to the ground and raise my hands to show the stranger that I wasn’t a threat.

“The name’s Nick. What’s yours?” He tilts his head to the wall with a soft thud and covers his eyes with one of his hands after glancing at my lamp.

“I’m John, John Watson.” I notice the combat knife on the floor and hid it in under my thigh. Cautiously I pull my backpack towards my person and recovered a can of beans and rolled them over to the man’s feet. The other survivor removes his hand from his eyes and picks up the can suspiciously.

“That’s for you, in case you’re hungry. I don’t have much, I just got into town.”

“I can’t open it with my bare hands.”

“No shit, I’ll give you back your combat knife as long as you don’t use your gun.”

“Since you know that I have one, what’s stopping me from using it now?”

“There was like 30-something infected out there all because of your 3 shots. Any more would lure fifty infected and a few specials straight toward us. You should re-position your gun, that looks uncomfortable.” I nodded toward how John carried the gun in his pants, it wasn't a practical place to put it.

“…Fine.”

The knife skids across the floor back to its owner and I pull out an expired granola bar to nibble on. The adrenaline was wearing off moderately, leaving nothing but hunger in its wake. It was mostly silence, excluding the sound of John scraping metal while he opened the can. The only other noise I could hear were clearly disappointed scraggly voices complaining outside the door. There were some curses thrown around out there for losing sight of the survivor. I practically choke on my granola bar from what I heard outside, which grabbed John’s attention. I nervously coughed and tried to start a conversation.

“Um you know it’s nice to meet you, even under these circumstances. It’s not often that I find another survivor.” John scoops beans into his mouth and calmly chews his food. I continue to talk, “You can probably tell that I’m not from around here either. It was quite a surprise when I figured out where I was.”

John finishes a few more bites and responds. “So how did you get here?”

I lean over to my lamp to dim the excruciatingly bright light. “Actually I doubt you’ll believe me, it’s a pretty crazy story.” The moans from the infected got louder, it seems like they’ve broke through a neighboring room; a few limbs lazily bang against the locked door but never tried to get in. I notice John tighten his grip on his combat knife but hesitantly relax when the noises moved away.

“I’m not going to be leaving anytime soon and a story would be nice.” So I told him a condensed version of what happened to me on the Virgin Caribbean and nothing else. I didn’t say anything about the conversations with infected or the fact that they didn’t bother to attack me or anything before the cruise. I just know that a story about a crazy cannibal cruise captain wandering around the ship trying to eat me while adrift at sea for two weeks would be the right amount of crazy this man can handle for now. I mean if he ever knew more about me he’d probably think I’m a threat to myself or him and try to kill me. So I’m taking this slow, and you know what? I think he actually believes me.

“I don’t believe you.”

Well I thought he’d believe me. “I’m dead serious I was on the damn ship for that long.”

He skeptically raises his eyebrow at me. “That’s impossible, international transportation has been closed since the Infection started. Did CEDA drop you off?”

I smugly shrug to his disbelief. “Why would CEDA waste their resources just to drop me off in another country?”

“I guess you’re right about that, but it doesn’t explain how you got here.”

I have nothing to hide nor do I have to humor this conversation; but I miss talking to people who could actually respond to me with malice. “I already told you! I jumped off the ship near the Allhallows coast. There’s a worn raft that I used to get to shore it’s probably on some rocks. The ship is long gone by now but I’m telling the truth!” I lean too far forward from my outburst and unintentionally irritating the cut on my arm. I hissed quietly as I gingerly slide the sleeve of my jacket up to check out the wound.

John moves a bit closer to inspect my arm. “How long has that wound been like that?”

“A few days, the ocean water sterilized it when I swam to shore. I cleaned it the best that I could but I suck at stitching with my left hand.” I lean back against the wall behind me and slowly blink through the spinning Johns. I rub my eyes and reach into my bag for a bottle of water to splash on my face. The lukewarm liquid helped a bit but I noticed John staring me down.

“You look exhausted, when have you last slept?”

“What are you, a nurse?”

“Army doctor, actually.”

“Oh, that changes everything. I don’t know, over 72 hours? I’ve been having trouble sleeping.” John looked like he was contemplating something really hard but I couldn’t begin to comprehend whatever he was thinking right now.

“Look,” He startles me from my incoherent thought process. “You’re not going to make it any farther without some medical attention. You seem like a decent person to me, so I’m going to return the favor. You’re coming with me to the safe zone and then from there we’ll figure everything else out while you recover.” He extends his hand out to me but I stare at John as if he’s showing me an elaborate handshake.

I shake my head in disbelief to his encouraging words, this can’t be real. This just can’t be. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch, you’ve saved my life, now I’m returning the favor.”

I stare intensely into his eyes and can tell how serious he feels about what he said. I smile and raise my hand to greet his. “That would be…” Before I could finish my sentence, the door knob falls to the ground with a loud metallic thud and the door creaks open on its own. A distinct wail bellows from behind the door. I turn off my lamp and quickly grab John’s shoulder to pull him close to the wall. I cover his mouth with my other hand and managed to shush him. The hallway light flickers dimly behind our only exit. Slowly but surely our latest visitor creeps inside the room, its eyes glow a bright red behind its messy hair, elongated claws drip fresh blood onto the floor with sickly thuds as it raises its hands to cover its face. Horrifying sobs of anguish erupt from its mouth as it takes step after step with its pale thin legs.

The hallway lights sending an unsettling silhouette of the approaching witch upon us as we brace ourselves against the wall. As the witch wanders aimlessly around the room ignoring us, I frantically but silently push John toward the exit. He glances behind him and spots the witch trailing its fingers against the back wall; I could see a long bead of sweat fall from his temple as we continued inching toward the door. Suddenly a light clanging sound pulls everyone’s attention toward to us. John, me, I don’t know who but one of us had accidentally bumped into the empty bean can, unceremoniously grabbing the witch’s attention. The man ahead of me freezes out of fear as the witch makes its way towards him, snarling under her breath. I swiftly reach for the can and move as far away from John as I could without bumping into the witch.

Once at the farthest wall I bang the can loudly against the wall immediately getting her attention. As the witch starts to growl menacingly at me, I point toward the door motioning John to get out of the room. Thankfully he does so but not before raising his handgun at the back of the witch’s head. I wave my arms in the air desperately for John to stop whatever he was thinking of doing but he only tighten his grip on the gun and edged his finger closer to the trigger. The witch inches close enough to that I could easily hear a low snarl escaping its mouth as it raises its arm into the air. I tried everything I could think of at that moment to stop John from firing. I held my hands out, shook my head ‘no’ enough times as if I had a seizure and stared him down. For some reason he understood me, he understood that I didn’t want his help. So I slowly bend down to pull something out of my backpack. I then began to whisper aloud, “I-I’m not trying to bother you, I was just passing through.” If it’s to calm myself down or the witch but it seemed to be working either way. I’m not sure if John could see anything with the drastically flickering lights and the witch blocking his view of me but I really hope he doesn’t fuck anything up for me right now. Without missing a beat I tear open a bag of sugar and gradually wave it around the witch’s face. She narrows her bright red eyes and lowers her clawed hand away from me as she tilts her head toward the sugar.

“As a sign of good faith, this is for you.” I set the bag of sugar down at a corner of the room and stood as calmly as I could. She didn’t bother to move just yet, her head still faced me and I think I could see her cracked lips move to form a hiss. The witch wanders forward until she bumps right into me and I believe I heard her say under her harsh breath, “…thaaaaaaank….yoooooooooou.” She then moves to the side just enough for me to shimmy out of the room with my backpack clutched to my chest. Once through the door I calmly shut it behind me and lean against it to take a deep breath. I glance up at John’s stunned face and noticed that he still had his gun raised. I pull his arms down and away from the trigger then stood back up to my feet as I shrug my backpack onto my shoulders. John continues to stare at me in disbelief, speechless as he rubs his temples wearily. I had no idea what was going through his mind but I can at least figure out the right word for him to ask whenever he decides to talk again. “What?”


	2. John's P.O.V

I am breathless; this American girl has suffered a nasty laceration on her right upper arm and hasn’t slept in what God knows how many days yet. She’s waiting on me to catch up to her as we make our way up several flights of stairs. “I’m getting too old for this.” I grumble aloud to myself as the girl peers down at me from a floor up.

“Nah, if you grew a mustache you’d definitely look old but you’re doing well for a stranger I’ve just met.” I stop to rest at the railing and coughed out a laugh.

“That’s what most young people say to the older gents.”

“Look buddy, you look like you’re in your late 30s? I’ve seen an old guy 30 years **your** senior kicking ass and taking names with a sub machine gun back in the states. Oh and he was in the military too…was probably in Vietnam. Believe me; you’re doing better than you think.”

I finally caught my breath and rushed up to her. “That is a weird way to make me feel better about myself.”

She sheepishly shrugs her shoulders and apologized. “I didn’t mean to sound off I was just trying to…you know what, I’ll just shut up for a bit.”

I scratch my head after everything went quiet. The sounds of footsteps echoing around us in the stairwell weren’t exactly helpful. From the look of her face it didn’t look like she was going to crack for a while so I guess I’ll have to. “So, how did you do that…thing back there?”

“What?”

“How did you learn how to get past the Wailer?” She opens the door to the rooftop and I relish the feeling of the soft breeze sneaking through the heavy door. She walks over to the ledge and stares down at the filthy streets.

“The witch? Yeah I know a thing or two in avoiding them.” She nonchalantly ends the conversation like that but I tried to keep it alive, trying to get her to spill a bit more about herself.

“Who thought of the name ‘Witch’?”

She snaps out of her daze and turns to me. “What? It’s what I’ve always called that special infected. Well what other survivors decided to called it. You called her a Wailer, is that what you call her here?”

“Well yeah, the name isn’t that creative but that’s all the bloody thing does.” The girl hopes over a small gap between buildings and slowly rubs at her arm. I yell out to her. “Don’t touch it!”

Startled the girl snaps at me, “I’m not touching it!”

“Then what’s your hand doing near you bad arm?” I chastise her.

She avoids my gaze and forces her good arm down to her side. “I just had an itch.”

I hop over the gap and make my way over to the girl to check out the quick stitches and makeshift bandage I made for her. It was still intake but the area was beginning to turn purple and swell. We need to hurry this along.

“In the states, other survivors thought of a lot of interesting names for the special infected. Boomers, Jockeys, Spitters, Tanks, Hunters, etc. Tried our best to warn others about the latest discoveries. I’m not sure if you guys have small safe houses like ours but some people leave notes in them so the next group can be on their toes.” She continued to talk. “The people that leave health kits, maps, notes and weapons behind are heroes so I try to keep the tradition going whenever I leave each town. I’d scavenge around the area marking on the maps what were overrun with infected and try to point people to the right direction. Heh, not sure if I can still do that though.” She’s obviously been through hell and back.

“You were trapped in there with a bloody wailer or witch whatever you call that monster!! What note have you read that tells you how to survive that?”

The girl jumps another gap between two tall buildings and waits for me to follow suit. “Yeah I know, had a front row seat. I have my ways when getting around infected. Notes can’t beat experience and not a lot of people ever survive that encounter. It's just...luck.”

I jump the next gap and look over my shoulder to see a few common infected wander aimlessly below. “No, this can’t be taken lightly. The safe zone will need someone like you. You see they give everyone a job to keep us sane and… ”

Nick grabs my arm to help me across a narrow plank on the roof and finishes my sentence.“Useful?”

“In a way, yes. I was an army doctor so I work at the medical tent every few days.”

The girl rests against a chimney and wipes ash off her hands onto her pants.“So if someone just so happened to have a useful skill they are stuck with that job; but what if they want a different job? What then?”

I gulp down the water and offer some the bottle to Nick. She gladly takes it and takes a few sips before returning it to me. “They always spout propaganda like: everyone has a job because it helps the community or if someone stops doing their job then how can we get back our old lives back? I don’t believe it but at times I wish it were true. That’s why I still do my job.”

Nick stretches her arms before preparing for her next jump. “Well, you save lives; that’s a very important thing. I’m not surprised that you’d want to help as much as you could; but the real question that’s been irking me since you’ve told me about your assorted job community is, why are you not in the safe zone doing your job?” The American takes a running start and jumps over a large gap, immediately tucking and rolling as she hits the hard rooftop floor. She shakily gets back to her feet and takes out a piece of rope from her pack, tightly ties an end to a sturdy AC unit and tosses the other end toward me. I tie the rope tightly around my belt loops and waist, waiting for Nick to secure the other end to something sturdy. She gives the signal and I sprint toward the ledge. By the time I made it across the gap I lost my footing and slid down the side of the roof. I can feel the cold sharp concrete breaking the skin from under my palms as I try to hold on for dear life on the rooftop. To my astonishment, Nick rushes to my aid like before.

A pill bottle slides out of her pack and explodes as it hits the ground a few stories below. As I look down in a fit of panic, I could see infected wander around what was left of the pill bottle. I turn my attention back to Nick just as she was wedging her leg between something solid, and then takes a good grip of my wrist before pulling me up. She’s a lot stronger than she looked. I’m not sure but I think I heard loud snapping and tearing sounds coming from the young woman as I crawled over the edge. I begin chanting my thanks over and over to her but she seemed distracted after I got to my feet. Nick immediately took to checking her pack for something but curses under her breath in disappointment when she couldn’t find whatever she was looking for before turning to me. I noticed Nick’s arm was coated with blood but she acted like it was merely a scratch.

“So you’re a doctor, eh? Can you give me a diagnosis for this?” She casually lifted her jacket sleeve up to show me her reopened wound before passing out from the intense pain.


End file.
